The change in altitude and temperature—one down and one way, way up—made me punchy. Even though it was ten at night when we checked into our hotel in Cartagena, I wanted to go out and see this UNESCO World Heritage site immediately.
"Come with me to get a juice!" I'd read that there were 24-hour fresh juice stands just outside the main gate to the colonial walled city that we were staying in.
And so we walked down to the plaza where slave trading had once occurred, through the main gate to this fortress of a Caribbean city, and just to the left. Most of the stands sold shrimp cocktail or ceviche, but one served fresh juice.
"Jugo de ananas, por favor," I pointed to the pineapple. A fresh pineapple juice sounded divine.
"Pina," said C sharply, when the vendor looked puzzled. Then he lowered his voice.
"Ananas is Arabic."